Hot, Spicy Fried Fluff
by AshlynnCoy
Summary: This is a piece of Yavin-era fluff featuring the GFFA equivalent of French Fries, a bunch of pilots with their shirts off, a game that's basically 3D shuffleboard, Leia being not good at cooking, and Han having a stash of beer on hand. It's super fluff. Han and Leia like each other, Luke likes fries. Everyone likes a cold drink on a hot day.


When Luke had come bounding up to the _Falcon_ and informed Han Solo that some of the pilots were having a party, and that he ought to come join, Solo had not hesitated to agree. The last time these rebels had thrown anything they'd referred to as a party (as opposed to a _reception_ which had been as stuffy and buttoned-up as it sounded) had been the night after their victory over the Death Star. It had been a raucous and jovial gathering, and Solo had enjoyed himself immensely. If the same pilots responsible for that night (he'd been informed that Gold Squadron _always_ won the after party) were in charge of whatever was going on today, then he was more than happy to join in the reveling.

Luke led him out the west exit of the old Massassi temple and through a brief tangle of trees to a clearing that had until recently been home to a lookout tower. As the base was being deconstructed in advance of the impending evacuation, the clearing, halfway between the temple and the nearest friendly patch fresh water, looked to have been adopted as a social gathering place.

Most of the pilots of Han's acquaintance were casually hanging about. They were lounging on a few canvas camp chairs and a number of munitions and supply crates that had been repurposed as seating. There was a game of hoversnap in progress, the field taking up the center of the semi-circle they'd arranged themselves in. Dressed in civilian clothes to the man—half of them shirtless and a few barefoot to boot—they might have been a bunch of university buddies on holiday rather than a bunch of battle-hardened fighter pilots eking out a bit of down time. It didn't look so much like a party as just a few guys making the most of an afternoon off, but it still beat sitting around the hangar waiting for his next cargo.

Especially since his buddies from the flight line were hardly the most interesting thing to Solo's eyes. It was the unexpected presence of Princess Leia that had his attention. She'd run off almost immediately after the ceremony where she'd hung the Medal of Heroes around his neck and he hadn't heard yet of her return to base.

She wasn't dressed like herself, either. The cut-off trousers she wore were only barely decent, hanging onto her hips only thanks to a length of rope she had tied through the belt loops and rolled up at the cuff to show more leg than Han ever imagined he'd see of her. She had a short-sleeve uniform blouse unbuttoned and tied up at her waist, her ivory camisole was visible, as was a strip of bare skin between its tail and her shorts. She had her hair braided around the top of her head, and a look like she hadn't a care in the galaxy as she stood behind what looked to be a makeshift work station.

"I didn't know you were back!" Han said to the princess as he and Luke joined the group.

"Just this morning," Leia answered. "these guys accosted me almost the moment I landed. But I had heard that you were sticking around. Glad to hear it."

"Yeah," Han said back, "your Commander Willard took me aside—told me you all'd be evacuating this base. Said he could use good pilots with fast ships to get through the blockade. Told me I could name my price. So here I am."

"How noble."

"We can't all be heroes, Princess."

"Didn't you just get a medal for heroism?" Wedge teased from his seat just to Leia's left.

"Yeah, well," Han said with a shrug, "we can't all be heroes _all the time_."

"I suppose," Leia groaned, "Here," she said, pointing to a plate of golden-brown something at the far end of the table where she stood, "have a handful, we have plenty. Luke, you too."

"What is all this?" Luke asked, not hesitating to pick up one of the long, thin pieces and have a taste.

"These are Alderaanian salt tubers," Wedge replied, "Tycho grew them."

"Her highness brought me the starts four… five trips home ago," Celchu piped up from his seat nearby. One of the few pilots with a shirt on, he also wore a hat and sunglasses. Solo wondered if he was concerned about possible sunburn.

"Help yourself," Leia encouraged, "there's plenty."

"And If we need to do another batch, we can," Wedge added, "Get Leia to cut them, she does it better than the rest of us."

"But whatever you do," Tycho added, "don't let her highness touch the fryer."

"It was an accident!" Leia challenged.

"How's your hand, by the way?" Janson asked. He was standing at the edge of the hoversnap field, scoping out his next throw, and looking a little ridiculous in a pair of too-tight shorts and a faded old shirt in a very loud print, which he wore open over an otherwise bare chest.

"It's getting a pretty nice blister," she replied, holding up the back of her left hand for inspection.

"Yeah, it is," Han affirmed. He'd seen burns like that plenty of times on his own hands when he'd gotten a little too careless working on his old speeder before allowing the manifold proper time to cool. It was an oil burn and it was liable to hurt—a lot. He was kind of surprised she seemed so nonplussed by it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his commlink, waiting to hear Chewie's characteristic warble on the other end before speaking again. "Hey pal, listen," he said, "I'm out in the clearing off the west end of the building with a bunch of the guys. Do me a favor, will ya? We got a coupla cold cases under the deck plates—pull one out and bring it back here. And grab a medpac while you're at it. "

"I don't need a medpac," Leia insisted, "it's not that bad."

"You're right, it's not," Han agreed, putting his commlink back into his pocket. "Put a little burn cream and some firm wrap on it to keep it from gettin' infected and it'll stay that way." Leia rolled her eyes and went back to slicing tubers.

"These are really good," Luke said, his mouth full of fried tuber as he reached for another handful.

"They're my favorite," Tycho said back, lining up at the edge of the hoversnap field to aim his next throw.

"I still can't believe they took to the soil," Hobbie said.

"I'm not surprised," Tycho replied. He tossed the sphere into the field and balled his hands into fists as it hit Janson's last sphere, knocking it into a lower scoring range. "They're pretty hearty," he added, turning around and flashing a grin at Wes, who was shaking his head as he stepped back to the throwing line.

"But they won't grow in space," Wedge added, crossing to stand beside Leia and beginning to scoop the newly-sliced tubers into the fryer basket.

"Just about the only thing that kills them is artificial light," Tycho explained, making his way over to the platter and snagging another few fried tubers for himself. "So we've got to eat 'em before we evacuate. Wedge built the fryer," he said to Skywalker, who was still hovering over the platter, helping himself to the bounty three at a time, "and Janson spent days rendering the lard and nicking pots of cooking oil from the galley to get the thing working."

"Looks like I came back just in time," Leia said, reaching around Wedge's back to grab a bite for herself.

"Yeah you did," Wedge replied, dropping the basket into the fryer. "We didn't want to do this without you, but we were about to have to. This is our last day of stand-down before we're airborne again. We won't have another chance before we're evacuated to hang out in our civvies eating tubers and playing hoversnap."

"And drinking lager," Han added.

"What?" Janson asked, turning his head to look at Solo so quickly it effected his throw. His sphere wound up outside the scoring field altogether, but he didn't seem to care much. Solo was pointing into the jungle, toward the temple. Chewbacca was walking toward them, carrying a large rectangular case.

"Had some bottles in the _Falcon_ 's stores," Han replied. "Seemed like a good time to share."

Chewie quickly closed the distance and set the cooler down between the fryer and the crates the pilots were using as seats. Solo snagged the medpac from the top of the case and raised his eyebrows at the princess. She rolled her eyes, but acquiesced, following him to sit on an unoccupied trunk so he could bandage her hand.

Yowling his objection to being out in the heat, Chewie bid the group adieu and headed back toward the air-conditioned ship.

"I don't blame him," Janson said, pulling open the cold case and examining its contents, "it's hotter than blazes out here. But this is going to help," he added, "thanks Solo." Janson then took on the job of passing out libations, pulling out the tin bottles and passing them around to his friends.

"You're welcome," Han replied. "And there's more where that came from, so drink up. I'm gonna need to cargo space to help you rebels evacuate.

"None for me," Hobbie said, "I have deck duty later."

"If you're only saying that for my benefit," Leia said to him, turning her head so as not to watch Han tend to the burn on her hand. It looked gnarly enough without the addition of the viscous burn gel he was using. "Don't worry about it. I can't imagine one bottle of lager would be enough to cause problems. But if you want to make absolutely sure," she added, "pass me one and I'll let you know if I get buzzed. If it doesn't affect me, you'll know you're safe."

There were a few hoots and chortles at Leia's assertion, and Janson hurried to put the next opened bottle into the princess's un-burned hand. Han finished his ministrations on the other, coating the blister and the red skin around it with anesthetic and antibiotic and then sealing it up with self-firming bandages to keep it from infection. Leia took a pronounced swig of the lager, much to the delight of the others, as Wedge pulled the fryer basket back out of the oil and dumped the freshly-fried treats onto the platter beside him.

Luke was quick to snag another several.

"Han, you really should try these," he said to his friend.

"If you want," Wedge added, "I've got a jar of Mieriks mustard for dipping. It's over on the far side of Hobbie—help yourself."

Han stood up and moved toward the plate of fried tubers, snagging a lager out of his cold case on the way.

"Careful with the mustard," Tycho said, "that stuff will take the paint off your X-wing. I don't want to think about what it'll do to your insides."

"Solo's a fellow Corellian," Wedge reminded his friend, "our palates aren't so delicate as our dear Alderaanian colleagues."

"Watch who you're calling 'delicate'," Leia challenged between gulps of lager, "I happen to like spicy food."

"Yeah," Hobbie chimed in, tossing his final sphere into the hoversnap field, "well, you're tougher than the rest of us put together. So your opinion on spicy mustard doesn't count." The hoversnap field unit chimed then. All of the spheres fell from their places in space onto the dirt and the scores were projected in the place of the hover-field. "You want next game, Solo?" Hobbie asked then, "I've beaten all the rest of these chumps."

"Nah," Han said, taking his first bite of fried tuber and immediately reaching for another. "I've never been any good at hoversnap. But if any of you have got a deck of cards…."

"Do all pilots enjoy gambling?" Leia asked, as she got up from her seat and ducked around Solo to snag a fresh fried tuber slice off the top of the platter, "or just the ones I manage to attract?"

"I think it's all of us," Hobbie answered her, "except maybe Skywalker."

"He'll learn to like it once I teach him how to win," Solo countered. Luke, his mouth still full of tubers, couldn't help but laugh.

"Maybe," he allowed, shrugging his shoulders and reaching for another bite.

"Don't have a deck of cards," Wedge replied to Han's earlier question, "but you know what we could do—now that Hobbie's affirmed his position as the undisputed hoversnap champion—?"

"What's that?" Solo asked.

"Well, it's hotter'n Centerpoint on meltdown," he answered, "so I figure let's all go jump in the river while we've got the chance."

"Yessssssss!" Janson shouted, taking off at a flat run toward the narrow strip of trees that separated the clearing from the nearby river. There was a chorus of whoops and laughter as the rest of the pilots took off behind him, Luke bringing up the rear with a generous portion of freshly-claimed fried tubers clutched in his hand. Tycho was already out of his clothes and in the water, and Wes was tossing his loud-patterned shirt over a nearby tree branch.

Han headed off after them. Unlike the others, he was dressed in his everyday clothes, and it was far too hot to run—even toward the blissfully cool river. Leia seemed to be taking her time as well, following the others, but without any semblance of enthusiasm.

"I see you're hangin' back," he said, "what's the matter? Can't swim?"

"Of course I can swim," she snapped back, frowning up at him.

"Oh," Han said then, "so what is it then? Don't want the guys seein' you in your skivvies?"

"No," she replied. "It's not that… I'm not modest." Han felt a pit form in his stomach. Somehow he knew what the issue was. He lowered his voice as they moved closer to where the others were piling into the river.

"You've still got bruises," he said.

Leia's eyes got wide as she looked back at him, and Han knew he'd hit the nail on the head. They'd never _talked_ about what had happened to her on the Death Star. But he knew what the Empire was prone to do to prisoners they thought might have valuable information. He'd always approached her with the presumption she'd been tortured, or at least subjected to treatment he would classify as torture, and she'd never said a word to the contrary.

After the moment of surprise at Han's assertion, Leia nodded subtly.

"Only a few," she confided. "If they were fresh, I could pass them off, but it's clear they're not. I thought they'd be gone by now."

"Yeah," Han said, patting her on the shoulder as they slowed their approach even further, "Deep tissue bruises are a pill. I once had one on my leg from a speeder crash took more than six months to go away completely. It doesn't hurt anymore, does it?"

"No," she said promptly. "It's just ugly and I don't want to talk about it with the guys."

Han patted her shoulder again before crossing his arms over his chest.

"I hate to be a party pooper, princess," he said then, loudly enough that the guys in the water were likely able to hear, and surely audible to the few who were still undressing on the river bank. "But that firm wrap I used on your hand is kinda old. I don't know if the seal is trustworthy—I'm not sure it's such a good idea for you to get in the water."

Leia turned her head in surprise.

"Leave it to you to patch me up with substandard medical supplies," she snarked back at similar volume, but Han could see the gratitude in her eyes for the out he'd just given her. "I'll just take my boots off and wade in up to my knees," she said then, "so I don't get it wet."

Han smiled over at her as he plopped down onto a downed tree branch and began tugging off his boots. "You okay with that?" he asked under his breath. Leia nodded.

"Thank you," she said softly as she bent down and began unlacing her boots.

"Hey, no problem," he said back, "we haven't known each other all that long, but we've been through some stuff and I've got your back. You and the kid both," he added, "as long as Chewie and me are around, we're on your side."

"Thank you," she said again, "I appreciate that." Leia slipped her feet out of her boots and yanked her socks off before standing up again and stepping to the edge of the river. Han was out of his boots as well; he rolled his trousers up at the cuff and waded into the water beside her. "You're not getting in?" she asked. Han shook his head.

"I didn't get dressed for swimmin' this morning," he said, "if you know what I mean."

A flush rose to Leia's cheeks.

"I'm glad we're getting to know each other," she said, wading farther out into the cool water, "but I didn't need to know that."

"I'm glad we're gettin' to know each other, too," he said back. "And I fully intend to see you eat a spoonful of Mieriks mustard before I bug out of here for good, because I'm havin' a real hard time imagining an Alderaanian princess likin' that stuff."

"So I just refuse to eat spicy mustard, and we get to keep you around?" she teased, grinning up at him as though she'd just beaten him at something, "You've got yourself a deal."


End file.
